Phillips Sonne can with his finger Hide his scarre, it is so little: +(55) Little sinne a day to linger, Wise men wander in a tittle.
Trifles yet my Swaine haue turned, Though my Sunne he neuer showeth: Though I weepe, I am not mourned, (60) Though I want, no pittie groweth.
Yet for pittie, loue my Muses, Gentle silence be their couer: They must leaue their wonted vses, Since I leaue to be a Louer.
(65) They shall liue with thee enclosed, I will loath my pen and paper: Art shall neuer be supposed, Sloth shall quench the watching Taper.
Kisse them silence, kisse them kindly, (70) Though I leaue them, yet I loue them: Though my wit haue led them blindly, Yet a Swaine did once approue them.
I will trauaile soiles remoued, Night and morning neuer merrie: (75) Thou shalt harbour that I loued, I will loue that makes me wearie.
If perchaunce the Sheepheard strayeth, In thy walks and shades vnhaunted: Tell the teene my hart betrayeth, (80) How neglect my ioyes haue daunted.
FINIS. Thom. Lodge.